"So that's it? You're really going through with this?"

His voice was tight, as he stood in the doorway, arms crossed. His jaw clenched as he watched her fold another sweater and place it into the suitcase sitting open on the bed. watching her pack up like she was just going on a weekend trip, when in reality, she was leaving. Really leaving.

She didn’t stop, didn’t even look up at him, and that made his anger bubble hotter.

"You’re just gonna pack up and leave like it’s that easy?"

The words came out harsher than he meant, but he couldn’t stop them. He didn’t understand how she could do this.

"I thought we were happy. I thought we had a plan." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

They had spent years together in this tiny apartment, struggling and growing, dreaming about their future. Long nights wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering about what life would be like when things got better. When they had the careers they wanted, the home they dreamed of, maybe even a family

But then she got the offer. Some big opportunity in a city miles away.

At first, he had been supportive. Because of course he wanted her to succeed—he knew how hard she had worked for this. But the moment she said, "I think I have to take it," he had felt the ground shift beneath him. Because she wasn’t asking him to come with her. She wasn’t saying, "Let’s figure this out together."

She was saying goodbye.

"I don’t get it." His voice was quieter now, but the hurt was still raw. "I thought this was home for you. I thought I was home for you."

He stepped closer, trying to meet her gaze, but she wouldn’t look at him. That made something sharp twist inside his chest.

"Do you even care what this means for us?" His voice dropped lower, quieter, but no less tense. "Or was this your plan all along—to leave when things got too real?"

He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "If you walk out that door… is that it? Are we done?"